


Sweet Tooth

by ChuckleVoodoos



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dating, Interns & Internships, Landman and Zack, M/M, Origin Story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-10
Updated: 2015-06-10
Packaged: 2018-04-03 17:34:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4109266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChuckleVoodoos/pseuds/ChuckleVoodoos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt needs excitement, raw lust and feverish feelings.</p><p>Matt doesn’t need sweet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Tooth

“Hi, Matt. Sorry to bug you, but I saw your presentation and I just wanted to say it was—wow, it was genius, seriously. It was the only one I didn’t doodle through.”

 

The voice is friendly, if a little nervous. Pleasant, Matt thinks absently— light timbre, not too loud, a lot of inflection and emotion. Familiar, and it rings a dusty bell in the back of his mind.

 

“Thank you.” He smiles genuinely, because he worked hard on that presentation and not a heart in the room had sped up with interest. No, that’s not true. One heart had, but it hadn’t been one of the people in charge, the people Matt was trying to convince, so he’d dismissed it. It had been another intern, one he remembered vaguely as...

 

“Franklin, right?” He hears the man make a jokingly disgusted sound.

 

“Ick, no thank you. The people who aren’t writing my paycheck in the blood of the innocent call me Foggy.” He says, sounding incredibly blasé about badmouthing his bosses. Matt tilts his head for a moment to listen, but there are no other people around to hear. At least Franklin—Foggy—isn’t dumb.

 

“You probably shouldn’t say things like that.” He remarks mildly. “How do you know I’m not going to report you?” Foggy snorts.

 

“You are _not_ a toady spy, my friend. No one with any real desire to climb the corporate ladder would have suggested reallocating funds to charities, even for the publicity.” It’s a fair point. “It _was_ still genius though. If anyone on the board had even a shred of humanity left in them, they would have said yes.”

 

“Thank you.” Matt says again, smiling a little more widely. Sure, Foggy’s not the one he was trying to persuade, but it’s nice to know that at least someone thought it was convincing. “And your presentation was very nice too, on…” He stops, a brief flare of panic welling up.

 

He wasn’t paying attention. Foggy had presented after him, and Matt was so busy trying to figure out a way to spin his idea into something that might actually be accepted that he’d completely zoned out. Damn. And now any bridges he might have built are going to be burnt because no one likes it when they’re ignored.

 

Foggy laughs.

 

“Don’t worry, I barely remember what I was talking about either. Totally boring, cut-and-dry. Mainly because I’m not quite as nobly committed to career suicide as you.”

 

He doesn’t sound angry at all. Actually, he sounds rather amused, which is surprising. All of the other interns Matt’s run into have been rather hungry to prove their worth, and pompously self-important. Matt's beginning to realize that pride is the company motto. Pride and profit.

 

“It’s sure it was good anyway.” He tries lamely, and Foggy laughs again.

 

“You need to work on your poker face.” He tells Matt dryly. “It seems to be a requirement to work here. Although, I can’t really judge. I look like a tomato every time I have to speak in front of people—totally red, incredibly embarrassing. I’m actually sort of happy you can’t see it—oh, is that offensive?” He checks hastily, sounding worried. Matt shakes his head immediately.

 

“No, not at all.” He assures him. “Actually, it’s nice to hear someone talk about it without tiptoeing.” Foggy laughs.

 

“Yeah, tiptoeing is _not_ my specialty. I’m a bull in a china shop at the best of times.” He informs Matt cheerfully, confidence seemingly restored. “So no worries about me treating you like glass.”

 

Matt blinks at him. The phrasing is rather unique—it’s something he’s thought to himself all too often, a little bitterly. In the same words, actually, and it’s interesting to have someone look at it the same way without him bringing it up. Rather refreshing, actually.

 

“I’m glad.” He says honestly. He takes a moment to consider Foggy more carefully, now that he knows to 'look'.

 

No overbearing cologne, which is rare—the men here seem to think that others can smell their success if they wear something pricy enough, but it just leaves Matt feeling ill. Foggy smells slightly of coconut and chocolate—shampoo and afternoon snack, Matt thinks. It’s not overwhelming though, just sweet and a little rich. Cheaper suit than Matt would have guessed, judging by the way it sounds sliding against his shirt. The interns here get paid relatively well, but Foggy appears not to care overly much about impressing others with his appearance. His hair appears to support this theory—Matt can hear the tips just barely brushing across his shoulders when Foggy moves, much too long for the professional image of Landman and Zack. Foggy must be very good at his job for them to let it slide. Running a little warm, and heartbeat a bit faster than normal. He’s very open and a good talker, but also still a little anxious.

 

“Not to be rude, but is there something you wanted to ask me?” Matt asks carefully. “You seem a little nervous.” Foggy laughs again, and it’s _definitely_ nervous. His heartbeat speeds up a little more, and Matt smells the salt as Foggy begins to sweat just the smallest bit—mild, probably his hands.

 

“Uh, yeah, actually.” Foggy starts, sounding slightly uneasy. “Okay, and you can totally say no, but…” He stops, exhaling shakily. “Wow, this is harder than I thought. I had this whole speech planned, and it was awesome. Very smooth.”

 

Matt tilts his head, interested.

 

“Don’t worry, I won’t get mad.” He promises. He hopes Foggy’s not going to ask for a favor. That’s happened more than once already, other interns asking him for help on a project and then trying to stick him with all the work. Matt’s sabotaged every one of them with a mild smile, but he doesn’t want to do that to Foggy. Foggy seems kind, if a little skittish.

 

“You say that now.” Foggy mutters, before taking another deep breath. Matt hears his jacket rustle and he knows that Foggy’s shifting, probably squaring his shoulders. “Would you ever…Ugh, this is so totally inappropriate.”

 

Matt’s starting to get a little nervous himself. He wonders if this favor is going to be something Foggy wants him to do off the books. He’s gotten a few of those too, and it’s perturbing how easily they ask, like underhandedness is something natural here.

 

“Okay.” He says warily. “I’m listening.” He _really_ doesn’t want to have to sabotage Foggy.

 

Foggy swallows, and his heart’s going crazy now. Matt might be able to hear it even if he didn’t have his special senses. It must one hell of a favor.

 

“Would you ever want to get dinner?” Foggy blurts out, a little too loudly. Matt freezes, eyes wide. Foggy hurries on. “Or a drink. Or an ice cream cone. Or…anything involving doing something together outside of work? At any time?”

 

Not a favor, Matt thinks faintly. A _date._

 

“I…” He’s not quite sure what to say. His first reaction is to say no and get the hell out of there, because pretty much every relationship he’s ever attempted ends in disaster. He has a tendency to be attracted to people who are not good for him. Dangerous. Matt’s addicted to danger, and Foggy…doesn’t seem dangerous. Actually, Foggy seems _sweet_. Matt’s never gone out with someone _sweet._ It’s never been his thing. Sweet people aren’t passionate. They’re not going to bite and fight and leave bruises on his skin that he’ll feel for days. They’re not going to give him that adrenaline rush, those battles that he can’t seem to stop looking for no matter how hard he tries. Matt needs excitement, raw lust and feverish feelings.

 

Matt doesn’t need sweet.

 

“So that’s a no.” Foggy mutters faintly, sounding distantly horrified and incredibly embarrassed. “Okay, that’s okay. Do you think that you could maybe not mention this to anyone? And I’ll never mention it either. I’m not going to harass you, I swear. I just thought I should try, because—“

 

“Yes.” Matt says, and only realizes he’s the one who said it a moment later. He has no idea _why_ he said it—they’re totally incompatible, and it’s going to be painfully awkward at work after their date crashes and burns. To his surprise, he doesn’t immediately want to take it back.

 

“Wait, what?” Foggy squeaks, sounding stunned. After a moment, he sighs in disappointed realization. “Oh, right, the not-mentioning thing. That’s very cool of you, thanks. I’ll just head out to lunch, and when I get back we can start with the not-mentioning thing. Okay?”

 

“I meant yes to the dinner.” Matt corrects him, even though this is a _horrible_ idea, he has no idea what the hell he’s thinking. “Or the drink. Or the ice cream cone.” Foggy swallows hard.

 

“Really?” He asks, and he sounds uncertain and far too hopeful. What is Matt _doing,_ he doesn’t want to hurt Foggy’s feelings, why is he stringing him along like this?

 

“Yes.” Matt says, because his mouth is apparently going rogue and completely ignoring his brain. “Sure. Absolutely.”

 

Matt pleads temporary insanity. It's the only possible explanation.

 

“Oh. Wow.” Foggy whispers, dazed, and then he clears his throat. “Um, good.” He exhales shakily. “When do you have time? I can do anything, I sort of have no social life—ah, no, I mean, I have friends. I’m not a freaky hermit or anything. I just have lots of time this week, but I’m totally busy most of the time because I’m super popular.”

 

Sweet _and_ self-conscious. _Not_ Matt’s type. Abort, abort while he still has the chance. Minimize the damage.

 

“How about tonight?” Matt offers kindly, and once again that is his mouth ignoring his brain and going rogue and ruining everything. He closes his eyes for a moment afterwards, pained, and grits his teeth against a small scream of frustration. What is _wrong_ with him? What is he _thinking?_

 

No, he tells himself firmly. No, this is a good idea. He’s already committed to a date, and he might as well get it over with as soon as he can. Like ripping off a Band-Aid.  It’ll be kinder to Foggy.

 

“Oh.” Foggy says dimly. “Oh. Yes! Yeah, I can do tonight. Tonight’s perfect. I can—uh, I can call you later to set something up? Or you can call me, anything you want.”

 

Like ripping off a Band-Aid, Matt tells himself again while giving Foggy his number and entering Foggy’s into his phone. He can do this. He hurries away after they have successfully exchanged phone numbers, possibly to make an appointment with a psychiatrist because he’s obviously insane or perhaps is suffering the first effects of a rapidly worsening brain tumor. As he turns the corner of the hallway, he hears a heavy thump—jumping. Foggy’s actually jumping up and down.

 

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” He hears Foggy cheering under his breath, although it’s loud as a cannon in Matt’s ears. Foggy gives an incredulous, giddy laugh, and Matt swallows hard and ignores the painful tightening in his chest as the guilt and dread settle in. Not his type. Too _sweet._

This is going to be a disaster.

 

* * *

 

It’s not a disaster.

 

Foggy’s nervous at first, yes. He swallows a lot, and he pulls out Matt’s chair for him, and his heartbeat’s racing. Matt’s feeling vindicated in his reservations and a little uncomfortable until Foggy starts talking.

 

To his surprise, Foggy’s fun to listen to. He’s also got a dry sense of humor and a way of telling stories in a way that makes them both ridiculous and somehow believable. He rambles a little, but he also makes sure to let Matt speak when it’s his turn, and he laughs and makes wry comments and he actually seems _interested._ And the more Foggy talks, the more relaxed he gets. His heartbeat slows to normal, and he only swallows after he chews his food. He steals bites of Matt’s meal, and lets Matt steal bites of his, and he makes outrageous observations about the people around them that make Matt laugh. Matt actually suggests ordering dessert when the waiter takes away his plate, because Foggy’s telling a story about Joe from accounting and Matt wants to hear the end. They eat a ridiculously rich chocolate cake, and they share another story, and another, and another. They play Twenty Questions and somehow always manage to guess right in less than five, and then they play Would You Rather and Matt dares to answer truthfully instead of choosing the safest response. More than once Matt finds them finishing each other’s sentences. 

 

They finish dessert but Matt still doesn’t want to leave, so they sit there licking their spoons like there’s something left to eat, just so they can put off getting the bill. They lick until the waiter tells them irritably that the restaurant is _closing,_ sirs, so please get your coats and get out. Foggy’s polite, even though his heartbeat’s quick. He doesn’t make a move while they’re waiting for a cab. He just chatters happily, entirely comfortable by now, and it’s not awkward, not like it’s been on other dates Matt’s been on. When Matt hears the cab pull up, Foggy lets Matt steal it, claiming he should probably try to walk off some of the insane amount of calories he’s just eaten.

 

And maybe Matt’s still crazy, but he’s also happy and a little buzzed, so he reaches out and gives Foggy a quick kiss on the cheek before he can talk himself out of it.

 

“Wow.” Foggy whispers with a blissful kind of shock, sounding like he's just won some kind of lottery that he didn't even know he was playing, and Matt grins.

 

“I’ll call you, okay?” And he finds he actually means it. Foggy agrees eagerly, and Matt hears him cheering as the cab pulls away, just like he did in the office. Matt can’t seem to stop smiling the whole ride back.

 

Foggy’s sweet, it's true, but Matt sort of likes him anyway.

 

* * *

 

“Back off before you get burned.” Well, that's an interesting way to start a conversation. Matt raises his eyebrows and smiles mildly up at the intruder.

 

“Good morning to you too, Miss Stahl.” He says pleasantly, making sure that his smile is as irritatingly mild and tepid as he can possible make it.

 

“Don’t you ‘Miss Stahl’ me, _Mr. Murdock.”_ Marci hisses, and Matt almost jumps when he hears her hands slam down on the desk. “The rest of these people might buy your shy little saint act, but I know when someone’s bad news. It takes one to know one.” She doesn’t sound at all self-conscious about this statement. “Which is why I want you to stay about from Foggy Nelson.”

 

Matt’s smile slips.

 

“I wasn’t aware you two knew each other.” He offers neutrally. Matt’s only run into Marci a few times himself, and he hadn’t thought she’d be the sort of person Foggy would have much in common with. At all.

 

 Marci scoffs.

 

“Yeah, that tends to happen when you sleep together a couple dozen times.” She says bluntly. “It didn’t end well, and that is _not_ going to happen to him again.” Matt wasn’t aware that Foggy had dated anyone else in the company, and he's not sure how he feels about it. He thinks it should be okay—he’s not a jealous person by nature (mostly maybe sometimes), and he’s only been out with Foggy once. There’s no reason or excuse to be upset about Foggy seeing other people. It’s just that…

 

Marci would be horrible for Foggy. Matt’s only gone on one date with him, and he already knows that. Marci’s a shark, one of the most dangerous new arrivals at the firm. She’s pretty much one hundred percent designer perfume and killer instinct. She’s sly and a little acerbic, and she gets things done with brutal efficiency. Foggy’s not like her. Foggy’s funny and friendly and a little awkward. Foggy’s gentle and kind and dorky.

 

Foggy’s _sweet._

“Would you please stop pining in the middle of my shovel talk?” Marci snaps, and Matt blinks at her.

 

“I’m not pining.” He denies, frowning. Marci snorts.

 

“Pathetic. You couldn’t even last one date without breaking.” She mutters, seemingly to herself. “Which is why we need to have this discussion now. Seriously, no more dates.”

 

“Why?” Matt asks, a little dubiously. He wonders if Marci might want Foggy back. Foggy wouldn’t do it, not if he was still dating Matt, but _are_ they dating? Does one date count as dating? If Marci makes a better offer, will Foggy decide Matt isn’t worth the risk?

 

“You’re not compatible.” Marci tells him flatly. Matt narrows his eyes, irrationally displeased with this assessment. 

 

“Foggy thinks we are.” He points out deliberately, and Marci snorts in derision.

 

“You make him stupid.” She says dismissively. “You always have.” And that...makes no sense at all, to be frank. 

 

“We only started talking a day ago.” Matt informs her, confused and a bit annoyed. There is a long and rather heavy silence, and then Marci laughs. It’s not a kind laugh.

 

“Oh my god.” She breathes with bitter satisfation when she apparently recovers from whatever fit of humor hit her. “A day. You think—god, you’re even dumber than he is.” Her voice abruptly sobers. “It’s been a hell of a lot longer than a day, Murdock. Which is why I want you to leave him alone. Stop stringing him along.”

 

“I’m not stringing him along.” Matt grits out, and he shouldn’t be as offended as he is. He’d accused himself of the same thing yesterday when he’d said yes without thinking. But he did say yes, and he’s glad he did. He _likes_ Foggy, more than he’s liked anyone in a very long time. “I want to see him again.” Marci gives another sharp little laugh.

 

“You’ve _never_ seen him!” She says harshly, voice surprisingly bitter. “Even if you could have looked him straight in the eye—you still wouldn’t have seen him.” Matt glares, hands clenching into fists, and he finds himself pushing himself just a little out of his chair. Tensing, ready for a fight.

 

“Well, I see him now.” He says lowly, and he can't remember the last time he got this angry during work hours. Normally he keeps his cool quite effectively, but there is something about Marci that is rubbing him the wrong way like sandpaper on his skin. The overwhelming smell of Marci’s perfume gets stronger when she leans in, scratching her nails across the table and probably leaving marks in her wake, and hisses—

 

“Hey, Marci. I didn’t think you worked on this floor.” A cheerful voice chirps from nearby, shattering the thick tension, and Marci sighs.

 

“Damn.” She curses under her breath. The perfume gets fainter again. “Foggy Bear! I thought you were getting lunch. If I’d known you were in I would have come and said hi.”

 

“Uh-huh.” Foggy says, and he sounds both exasperated and fond. Much too fond for an ex-girlfriend, especially a viper like Marci Stahl. “You’re not threatening Matt, are you?”

 

“We were just having a chat.” Marci tells him sweetly. “Isn’t that right, _Mr. Murdock?”_ Matt gives a smile that he’s pretty sure shows one too many teeth.

 

“A lovely chat, Miss Stahl.” He assures her serenely, before turning to Foggy. “So, you _haven’t_ had lunch yet?”

 

“Um, no.” Foggy says, and he sounds a little embarrassed. “I was actually going to see if, uh, you wanted to come. With me. Maybe.”

 

Matt freezes.  

 

He’d been about to sweep in and ask Foggy out for lunch anyway, but he wouldn’t have sounded so hesitant and hopeful about it. He’d been in the heat of the moment, and he’d felt his natural competitiveness welling up. He would have asked Foggy out just because Marci told him not to. And that’s not fair. That’s not what he wants. He just wants to go to lunch with Foggy, and see if the second date is as good as the first one was.

 

“Absolutely.” Matt agrees, and he can’t help the way his smile softens. It's showing weakness to Marci, but this isn't a fight. Not everything is a fight.  _Foggy_ isn't a fight.

 

“Awesome!” Foggy enthuses, thrilled. “I’ll just get my bag. Oh, do you want to come too, Marci?”

 

There’s the sweet again. Foggy had clearly come in expecting it to be a date, and yet he’s standing here and asking his _ex-girlfriend_ if she wants to come, and he doesn’t even sound resentful about it. It makes no sense. Marci seems to agree, because she sighs affectionately.

 

“No, you two go on your little lunch date and make cow eyes at each other. Some of us have work to do.” Matt hears her heels clicking away, and then her whispering, low enough that Matt knows he’s not supposed to hear.

 

“He’s trouble, you know.” There’s the slightest huff of a laugh as Foggy whispers back, taking a step forward. A step towards Matt.

 

“I like trouble.”

 

* * *

 

“So, when did you realize you wanted to ask me out?” Matt asks curiously, three weeks later. He can’t quite stop thinking about what Marci said. ‘It’s been a hell of a lot longer than a day, Murdock. Stop stringing him along.’

 

Going out with Foggy has been wonderful. They never seem to run out of things to talk about, and their senses of humor complement each other perfectly. Actually, pretty much everything about them complements each other perfectly, despite Matt’s initial doubts.

 

And Matt’s been keeping it slow, just longer kisses on the cheek and maybe-a-little-too-lingering hugs, because Foggy’s sweet and Foggy needs slow. Matt can do slow, if it makes Foggy happy. Sure, it’s the tamest relationship he’s ever had, but it’s also probably the only one he’s actually been willing to _call_ a relationship at all, let alone after only three weeks.

 

Nine dinners and nineteen lunches. It’s been a busy three weeks, but Matt’s loved every bit of it. And he could have had it even sooner, apparently. The thought stings.

 

‘It’s been a hell of a lot longer than a day.’

 

How long could he have had this?

 

He hears the light chink of Foggy’s fork hitting his plate on the downswing—missing his tortellini, surprised.

 

“Uh.” Foggy says, and it’s amazing how much embarrassment he can manage to convey in the one syllable. A while, Matt thinks. How did he not notice before? Foggy wears his heart on his sleeve, but he’d never even approached Matt before he asked for a date. “Did Marci say something to you?”

 

“No.” Matt lies. She hadn’t said anything _specific,_ after all. Just vague, catty things. “I was just curious.”

 

“Oh.” Foggy says, relieved. “Good.” Matt tilts his head, interested.

 

“Why, what would she have said?” He wonders. Foggy doesn’t answer. “Come on, how bad could it be?” Foggy still doesn’t answer. Matt’s getting a little worried. “That long?” Silence. Ah. That long. He feels a little guilty. He really should have noticed sooner.

 

“So, this is going to sound _incredibly_ creepy.” Foggy prefaces carefully. Matt nods encouragingly and tries to act natural, poking at his food with affected interest. It seems unlikely that someone like Foggy could be creepy, but Matt is intimately aware that people often have plenty of dirty little secrets hidden under their polished exteriors. Foggy sighs like a man walking to the gallows. “About four years.”

 

Matt blinks, and this time he’s the one who misses with his fork, the sound loud in the quiet restaurant. Four years. It's inconceivable, for more than one reason.

 

“We’ve only worked together for one year.” Matt points out slowly, confused. Foggy laughs, a high and nervous sound that does not bode well. 

 

“Yeah, working, that’s true.” Foggy hedges awkwardly, clearing his throat. “But we also kind of, uh… went to law school together?”

 

...What?

 

“No.” Matt breathes, stunned, setting his fork down before he breaks his plate from any more surprises. “No, I’d have remembered.” Foggy shifts, dress shirt rustling—nice blended material, much better than anything he wears at work, and it's sweet that he makes the effort even though he doesn’t know Matt can appreciate it.

 

“It’s cool.” Foggy reassures him hastily. “I’m not that memorable.” Matt shakes his head immediately.

 

“No, you’re fantastic.” Matt tells him absently, because that much should be obvious, no matter the circumstances. “But we couldn’t have—did we just not run into each other?” There is a very, very long silence, and Matt feels his heart sink. 

 

“Um…” Foggy starts uneasily, and Matt shakes his head again, disbelieving. 

 

“No.” He denies. “No, there is no way.” Foggy clears his throat again, clearly a nervous habit, and Matt's heart has settled somewhere around his ankles now in something a mortified puddle.

 

“Three team projects.” Foggy tells Matt hesitantly. “And one study group.”

 

“No.” Matt says again, flatly. It seems to be his new favorite word, and also the only one in his vocabulary at the moment. His mind is blank. Foggy laughs, still a little too high.

 

“I, uh, I didn’t say much, so it makes sense you wouldn’t remember me. You tended to make me…uh. Sort of forget how to talk?” Foggy laughs again—nervous laugher, Matt thinks. Foggy laughed a lot the first time they met too, except apparently it _wasn’t_ the first time they met.

 

Matt thinks desperately back to his three years of law school. There were dozens of team projects, dozens of study groups. He can’t really remember anyone standing out. They all seemed nice enough, but he doesn’t remember anyone giggling and telling jokes involving pirates and Pig Latin. Not like Foggy does.

 

Because apparently Matt made him forget how to talk.

 

“I am so sorry.” He whispers, heartsick. “God, if I’d known…”

 

 _Would_ he have done anything? He barely said yes to Foggy a few weeks ago. Foggy seemed too sweet, and he is, he _is_ too sweet. So sweet it hurts sometimes. But Matt _had_ said yes automatically when Foggy asked, without even thinking about it. Apparently some part of him was smart enough to know that Foggy was more than just sweet. Would that part of him have been so smart in law school?

 

“Matt, it’s fine.” Foggy assures him kindly, and Matt jumps when he feels Foggy’s hand come to rest gently over his on the table. “It took me four years to get up the courage to talk to you. I obviously know a little bit about missed opportunities.”

 

Matt swallows. Missed opportunities. He would have missed this opportunity if Foggy hadn’t been brave enough to ask him. It’s a thought that makes him feel a little sick to his stomach. He _likes_ Foggy. He’s laughed more than he has in months, and Foggy did that. He could have been laughing for years, and he never knew it. He turns his hand, catches Foggy’s fingers.

 

“Well, I guess we got it right in the end.” He says as confidently as he can, and Foggy laughs—not a nervous one, a real one.

 

“I’ll toast to that!” He says cheerfully, obviously relieved Matt’s not going to push. Four _years._ Matt smiles and nods. The sound Foggy’s glass makes when it touches his sounds merry, like a bell. It’s relaxed for the rest of the dinner. Foggy seems eager to move on from the rather alarming admission, and Matt’s not far behind. He can’t seem to stop his mind wandering back to it though, no matter how hard he tries. Every moment that Foggy’s talking and laughing and holding his hand, Matt keeps thinking that he would have missed this. He almost missed it—no, he _did_ miss it.

 

Four _years,_ he thinks again as they finish their meal. Four _years,_ as they pay for dinner and make their way outside. _Four years,_ as Foggy gasps and stops to pick up a lucky penny, then immediately leans over and tucks it into Matt’s pocket.

 

“You need it more than me.” Foggy tells him dryly, and Matt snaps. There's no time left to waste here. Matt's not going to let another four years pass him by.

 

Foggy yelps when Matt grabs him by the collar of his shirt and yanks him forward, smashing their lips together. He makes a startled sound, lips parting, and Matt completely ignores any sense of first kiss protocol by immediately licking into Foggy’s mouth and tangling a hand in his hair. It takes Foggy a moment, but then he starts kissing back, and it’s sweet like Matt had expected, but that’s not all it is. Foggy’s actually quite a clever kisser, tilting his head into it and running a gentle hand down Matt’s back. Matt’s the one who makes a startled sound this time, when Foggy uses the hand on Matt’s back to pull him sharply closer so that they’re pressed together from shoulder to waist. Foggy grins, and Matt feels the slyness of it against his mouth. Not just sweet, he thinks dazedly. Matt grins right back and tugs Foggy’s hair just hard enough to make him gasp.

 

Good. Matt’s not so sweet either.

 

“ _So_ worth the wait.” Foggy murmurs after Matt finally lets him pull away to breathe. Matt laughs, slightly short of breath himself.

 

“Yeah?” He asks lowly, leaning and pressing another quick kiss to the corner of Foggy’s mouth. “That good?”

 

“Pretty good.” Foggy agrees easily, and the warmth in his voice makes all kinds of paradoxical shivers go down Matt's spine. Then he sighs, pulls away an inch or so. “Oh, cab’s here.”

 

Is it? Matt blinks, listens. Yes, there’s the rumbling of the engine and the smell of exhaust smoke. He hadn’t even noticed. That’s…new.

 

“Come home with me.” He’s not sure if it’s a question or an order. He’s already tugging Foggy towards the taxi when he realizes Foggy hasn't said yes.

 

“Matt…” Foggy says slowly, hesitant. “Don’t you think that’s a little fast?” Matt shakes his head, tugging Foggy’s hand again impatiently.

 

“Four years.” He reminds Foggy firmly, his mantra for the night. Foggy sighs, squeezing his hand.

 

“Four years for _me,_ Matt.” Foggy corrects gently. “Three weeks for you.” Matt grins at him, sharp and sure.

 

“Three weeks is a long time.” He offers effortlessly, and it is so very true that he aches with it. He can’t believe he _lasted_ three weeks with just chaste pecks on the cheek and hugging when he could have had _this._ Sweet-not-so-sweet kissing and the hint of something more.

 

“I just don’t want you to regret this in the morning.” Foggy prevaricates, sounding unsure, but he’s wavering, Matt can tell.

 

“I’m not going to regret it.” Matt promises him earnestly, and he means it. Matt’s used to doing things a little too fast, a little too hard. It’s just the way he is. And although he’s had more than a few nights that he _has_ regretted in the morning, he knows Foggy’s not going to be one of them. It doesn’t matter if Foggy’s slow and sweet in bed, soft kisses and gentle hands. Matt can live without the danger. He can. Foggy’s waited four years for him, and Matt doesn’t want to wait another second.

 

“Matt.” Foggy tries again. They both jump when the cab driver honks. One last try, Matt thinks. He moves forward this time, putting his hands on Foggy’s shoulders and leaning up to give him a gentle kiss on the forehead.

 

“I’m not going to make you.” He says softly before letting go, stepping back to open the taxi door. “I’m not patient, but I’ll wait for you. Because you’re worth it.” There is a brief moment of silence.

 

“Fuck it.” Foggy mutters, and pushes Matt into the taxi.

 

* * *

 

Matt can’t quite decide if he was wrong or not about Foggy being sweet.

 

Foggy’s gentle undressing him, pressing light kisses to Matt’s chest as he works his way down. Once he’s down though, he’s a demon, clever tongue and warm mouth and holding Matt down when he tries to arch up into the heat. Matt bites his lip when he realizes that he’s making rather embarrassingly desperate noises, and Foggy pulls away with a wet lick, reaching up to run his thumb gently over Matt’s lower lip.

 

“No.” He orders, “Come on, I wanna hear you.” He stays frustratingly still until Matt nods, then hums happily and goes back to his work.

 

Matt doesn’t last very long after that, because every time he makes a sound, Foggy sucks harder and deeper, and Matt’s pretty sure someone sweet should not be able to do that trick with his tongue. He tugs Foggy’s hair warningly, but Foggy ignores him. He swallows instead, soft eager little gulps that Matt can _feel_ around him _,_ and when he finally pulls away it’s with a blissful sigh.

 

“So very, very worth the wait.” He tells Matt, breathless, and Matt nods dazedly and yanks him up for a kiss.

 

Matt knows that if he wanted to be a little rough, Foggy would be on board. He’s clearly experienced and apparently he’s okay with things being a little wild. Foggy would be okay with it, but Matt wouldn’t be—at least not this time. He goes slow instead, soft licks and gentle brushes of his fingers across Foggy’s thighs as he works. Foggy seems very okay with slow too, little sighs of pleasure and whispers of Matt’s name. Perfect, and Matt’s never wanted slow before but he’s also never wanted sweet.

 

He wants both now, again and again for as long as he can.

 

“Are you just going to stay down there all night?” Foggy asks fondly afterwards, when he’s lying loose and pliant and trying to get his breath back. Matt grins and kisses his hip idly.

 

“I like it down here.” He says honestly. “You make a good pillow.” Foggy snorts, but it's fond.

 

“Are you saying I’m soft and plump?” He demands, but he doesn’t sound seriously offended. Matt shakes his head anyway, brushing his lips across Foggy’s stomach.

 

“You’re lovely.” He promises. A little soft, yes, but in a nice way. Healthy enough, but not a gym rat. Matt likes it—he’s used to fighters, hard and lean like him, but soft’s better, he thinks, for sleeping.

 

Sleeping.

 

“Stay?” He asks, and he winces when he hears how hesitant he sounds. Sleeping’s another thing he’s never really wanted. Sleeping isn’t exciting, it’s sticky and uncomfortable and he has no idea what to say in the morning.

 

He wants to try though. He’s just not sure that _Foggy_ wants to.

 

“Yeah, ‘course.” Foggy mumbles, running a gentle hand through his hair. “Long as you want me to.”

 

It’s Friday night. Matt thinks he should probably start with one night before asking Foggy to stay the weekend. See how it feels. It feels pretty damn good right now, but he’s currently in the afterglow. He’s not sure how far he wants to let Foggy in, how much it’s safe to. It all happened so fast.

 

The only thing Matt knows for sure is that he wasn’t lying. No matter what, he’s not going to regret it in the morning.

 

“I’ll make you breakfast.” He promises, patting Foggy’s hip happily, and Foggy laughs.

 

“There is no way you can cook.” He teases. “I don’t believe it. Nobody is that perfect.” Matt shrugs the point, kissing his way back up Foggy’s stomach and chest until he can rest his head on Foggy’s shoulder.

 

“I can make cereal.” He murmurs enticingly, and Foggy laughs again like Matt is the cleverest person in the world, wrapping an arm around Matt’s waist and pressing a kiss to his hair.

 

“Cereal sounds perfect.”

 

* * *

 

“It’s _Saturday._ ” Matt groans, burying his face in his warm pillow. “Turn off the damn alarm for once in your life and let me _sleep in.”_

“Alarm?” Matt’s warm pillow asks sleepily, shifting under him and rubbing his shoulder. “What alarm?”

 

“Neighbors.” Matt mumbles, snuggling closer. “Give it a minute, it’ll stop. Then sleep. Lots more sleep.”

 

“You can hear your neighbor’s alarm clock?” Matt’s warm pillow sounds rather surprised.

 

Matt freezes. Not a pillow.

 

“Uh, no.” He says quickly, faking a yawn. “Just a dream, sorry.” Foggy makes a considering sound, quiet for a moment.

 

“I don’t hear anything.” He muses, completely ignoring Matt’s weak excuse. “You must have bat ears or something.”

 

“Really, just a dream.” Matt repeats, a little panicked. It’s something deeply ingrained in him, not to let others know about his senses. He’s not sure when it started, if it was when he saw how people used his father’s talents against him or when Stick tried to train the trust out of him. Or maybe later, when he started to understand what happened to you if you were different. When he realized that it was better to be invisible sometimes.

 

Or maybe Matt just likes keeping secrets.

 

“Really?” Foggy asks doubtfully. He hesitates, and then runs a gentle hand down Matt’s side. “Because if you could hear the alarm clock, that would be kind of awesome.”

 

“I…” Was just having a dream, Matt almost says again. Foggy would probably let it go if Matt asked him to, maybe even fall asleep again and let Matt have a few more hours of this, alarm clocks be damned.

 

But it’s _Foggy._ Foggy who is soft and sweet and doesn’t sound at all freaked out at the thought of Matt hearing an alarm clock in an entirely different building. Who is still holding him and is willing to believe Matt even though he must know that Matt’s lying. Three weeks. Three weeks, nine dinners, and nineteen lunches, and Matt already knows he wants a million more. That means no lying, no messing it up.

 

“It’s one of the ones that sounds like a bird tweeting.” He admits in a tentative whisper. “It’s awful.” Foggy chuckles.

 

“You poor thing.” He murmurs, kissing the top of Matt’s head. “Every morning, huh?” He doesn’t sound at all upset or disturbed by this revelation. In fact, he sounds rather calm, still a little drowsy. It’s a better reaction that Matt ever could have hoped for.

 

“Every morning.” Matt tells him slowly, still a little unsure of how much he should admit to. “Five o’clock.” Foggy hisses in sympathy.

 

“Yikes, that sucks.” He commiserates, and then hums thoughtfully. “At least you’ll never be late to work.” Matt huffs out a laugh.

 

“That’s true.” He agrees, and then pauses, swallowing hard. Foggy seems fine, but that doesn’t mean he is. “So you’re…you’re okay with this? It’s not too weird?” It’s a little worrying how calm Foggy is about the whole thing. Matt wonders if he might be in shock.

 

“Nah, it’s fine. I watched a documentary about this, actually. Lack of vision and supplementary sensory compensation.” Foggy tells him cheerfully, clearly quoting whatever documentary he was watching, and then he gasps. “Oh my god, can you do the clicking thing?”

 

Matt blinks.

 

“The...clicking...thing?” He asks blankly. Definitely shock, he decides. Foggy nods happily, his hair tickling Matt’s face.

 

“Yeah. It’s like echolocation. You click your tongue—or they said you can do it by tapping a cane or snapping your fingers or whatever—and then you get echoes from the sound waves, and if you listen you can sort of see where things are.” Foggy explains, sounding excited. “It sounded like sci-fi at the time, but if you can really hear that well…”

 

Matt blinks again. He’d been worried that now that he’d started telling the truth, it would be a long struggle to try to describe his senses. It’s not something that most people automatically grasp—Foggy’s right, it sounds like sci-fi, like something out of a comic book. But it seems like Foggy’s almost got a better grasp on it than Matt does.

 

“I don’t need to click.” He offers cautiously, sitting up. “I can just sort of…” He wiggles his fingers as though that makes any sense, and to his surprise Foggy makes a noise of sage agreement.

 

“Cool.” He enthuses. “How well does it work?” Matt shrugs, uncertain.

 

“Pretty well.” He admits uncertainly. “I can sense outlines—no details, but I can get a general idea.” Foggy hums thoughtfully, and then shifts carefully, arm flickering like a flame as he raises it into Matt’s vision.

 

“How many fingers am I holding up?” He asks eagerly. Matt stares at the hand, fire-bright like a beacon. Steady, no sign of tremor or nervousness. Just waiting. Warm light, waiting.

 

Matt gives a desperate little laugh.

 

“Are you seriously flashing me the Vulcan peace sign?” He asks incredulously. Foggy makes an impressed sound.

 

“Yup.” Foggy agrees, smug. “It was between that and flipping you off, so be grateful.”

 

And Matt _is_ grateful. Foggy’s acting like everything’s completely normal, and Matt’s starting to think that he’s not _acting_ at all. Foggy’s seen documentaries and he’s seen Matt. He’s in a better place to understand than just about anyone else in the world, and what’s more, he seems to _want_ to. Foggy hasn’t even gotten up. He’s still lying sprawled in Matt’s bed, warm and relaxed and happy. Like this a normal morning, a _good_ morning.

 

“Do you still want cereal?” Matt offers hopefully, because he wants this to keep being a good morning for Foggy and free food usually makes people happy. Foggy laughs.

 

“Absolutely. I might want a shower first though.” He sighs, and Matt hears the silk rustle as he finally sits up. Matt nods, a little disappointed. He goes to stand, maybe to spend the next five minutes tasting cereals to see which ones are the least stale for Foggy to eat, before Foggy touches his arm. “You should join me. You’re at least as gross as I am right now, and I mean that in the best way possible.”

 

Matt smiles in startled relief and reaches out to pull Foggy to his feet, practically dragging him towards the shower. When Foggy’s too slow, Matt decides it’s probably just easier to carry him. After all, Foggy knows. Matt doesn’t need to tiptoe his way around anymore, and he wants the shower _now._ Foggy knows, and it’s alright. Foggy yelps but doesn’t squirm too much, and after a moment he buries his face in Matt’s shoulder, laughing.

 

“We look ridiculous.” Foggy informs him between giggles. “Although I do appreciate the hands-on demonstration of your bat senses. I’d have tripped by now—we kind of left a disaster zone with our clothes.”

 

“Sign of a successful night.” Matt responds happily, nudging open the bathroom door with one foot. “How warm do you want the water?”

 

“Hot as you can take.” Foggy tells him. “I'm really into hot things.” He runs a suggestive hand down Matt’s chest, and Matt gives another snort of laughter.

 

“You’re a dork.” He tells Foggy fondly, putting him down gently to start the water. As soon as he feels the warm steam on his face, he pulls a laughing Foggy inside.

 

And it’s _fun,_ Matt thinks with a distant sort of surprise. It’s intense too, the sort of intense he hadn’t expected from Foggy at the start of this, but it’s relaxed too. Matt didn’t know that laughing this much while naked could be a good thing instead of a sign of things being hilariously bad.

 

They wash each other’s hair, and spend a very good amount of time washing each other’s bodies, and then get messy enough that they have to do the washing again. Even after they’re clean, they run gentle hands over each other and kiss languidly until the hot water runs out and gets a little too cold on Matt’s skin.

 

“Wuss.” Foggy mutters affectionately when Matt turns off the cold water and reaches for a towel.

 

“I’m just hungry.” Matt denies, and Foggy snorts but lets it slide.

 

Breakfast turns out a little less spectacular than Matt had hoped. Pretty much the _only_ food he has in his apartment is stale cereal, and one bruised banana—he’s out of milk, so they crunch on the cereal dry and split the bruised banana.

 

“Best breakfast ever.” Foggy tells him happily when Matt apologizes sheepishly.

 

“We should still go grocery shopping though.” Matt muses, and then tenses.

 

Grocery shopping. First kiss, first time, and now he wants to add first shopping trip, all in one weekend. It’s way too fast, but it doesn’t _feel_ way too fast. It feels natural, easy, like they’re just falling into a routine that they’ve had for years. It feels right, to Matt. That doesn’t mean it feels right to Foggy though. Matt likes fast, but Foggy’s different.

 

“Sure. You have horrible taste in cereal. You clearly need guidance.” Foggy says easily, and Matt realizes it’s fine. Somehow it’s the same with Foggy, although Matt has no idea how it happened. It’s just _right,_ the two of them _._

 

He sends a brief prayer of thanks up to the heavens that he was subconsciously smart enough to say yes to that first date. Then he pushes their cereal bowls to the side and leads Foggy back to the bedroom.

 

“Shopping later. Sex now.”

 

Foggy laughs and races him to the bed. Matt wins, because he can _run_ now and Foggy _knows_ and instead of panicking, he just accuses Matt of cheating until Matt kisses him quiet.

 

Forget best breakfast. Best _morning_ ever.

 

* * *

 

Foggy does end up staying the weekend, although they make a quick stop at his apartment to grab Foggy some spare clothes.

 

“I don't understand why you can't just wear mine.” Matt complains, and Foggy scoffs.

 

“Firstly, not all of us can wear skintight clothing and pull it off.” He informs Matt primly, tugging at his admittedly tight shirtsleeve. “Secondly, I am _not_ showing up to the office on Monday _wearing your clothes_. I have some pride.”

 

“You'd look nice in my clothes.” Matt grumbles, certain of this fact without needing to see it, but he waits almost-patiently while Foggy gets his things.

 

They stop to get food on the way back, and Matt smiles when Foggy puts several bars of chocolate in the basket. He remembers Foggy smelling like chocolate on the day he asked Matt out for dinner, and it brings back good memories. He was always more of a vanilla person before, but now he thinks he’s probably going to prefer chocolate for the rest of his life.

 

“We should stop for ice cream.” Matt tells him as they check out.

 

“Seriously?” Foggy asks incredulously, and Matt nods.

 

“I never let you take me out for an ice cream cone.” He explains with affected solemnity. Foggy gives a startled little laugh. “We don’t have anything that’ll melt, and I’ll pay.” Matt tempts. Foggy sighs, but he doesn’t sound nearly as reluctant as Matt thinks he means to. So they sit on a curb with a grocery bag on each side and eat ice cream, and then they go home and have more sex. It’s a pretty good Saturday, and a pretty good Sunday too.

 

On Monday they go into work together.

 

“It’s not like anyone doesn’t know I have a huge crush on you.” Foggy tells him bluntly. “The only thing that might surprise them is you liking me back.”

 

Matt stops him at the doors, dips him into a rather passionate kiss in front of at least ten heartbeats, and straightens his tie tenderly before letting him go. The whole damn building is going to know how much Matt likes him back.

 

It’s not as big of a deal as Matt thought it would be. The higher-ups clearly don’t care about breaking the rules so long as it doesn’t affect their wallets. The other interns are surprisingly indifferent about the whole thing. Matt thinks it’s probably because it’s pretty clear neither he nor Foggy are trying to sleep their way to the top, given that they’re both at the bottom of the totem pole.

 

“They smell weakness.” Foggy adds cheerfully. “They think this’ll throw us off our game.” It doesn’t, of course. They’re still heads and shoulders above the other interns, but Matt lets them believe it because it’s easier that way.

 

It’s easy leaving work with Foggy too. Matt knows his way around the office better than most people can imagine, but it’s nice having Foggy offer his arm and lead them out together. It’s the perfect end to Matt’s rougher days, and it becomes a habit over the next few weeks. Foggy stays over the next weekend, and the next one he brings Matt over to his place, proudly proclaiming that he bought silk sheets so that Matt could sleep over and be more comfortable. Matt finally gets to sleep in on a Saturday. It’s heaven. After a while Matt forgets to even ask. He just knows that it’s either a Foggy Friday or a Matt Friday, and whichever it is they’ll climb into a cab together and go home. Both have silk and cereal and Foggy, so Matt’s happy either way. Blissfully, totally happy. It falls apart the tenth week. Matt wakes up, and it’s not to an alarm clock. He sits up slowly and looks down, watches Foggy’s sleep-warm-orange body lying still and peaceful next to him.

 

Another sob.

 

Matt hasn’t told Foggy what Matt hears in his _other_ neighbor’s house. He’s afraid of what Foggy will do—probably march right over and confront the man, and Foggy’s wonderful but he’s not a fighter and the man Matt hears at night is. Matt doesn’t want Foggy to get hurt. No, Matt only wants one person to get hurt, and he wants that one person to get hurt _tonight._

 

No more crying.

 

He carefully climbs out of bed, making sure that Foggy's still tucked safe and warm under the covers. Foggy’s a heavy sleeper unless he hears Matt’s voice, which makes it incredibly fun to wake him up in the morning. Tonight though, Matt stays perfectly silent as he pulls on his clothes and wraps his hands. Silent, as he gets ready for a fight.

 

Just one hit, he thinks as he listens to the man leaving for the morning shift. The man always leaves early for work, like he’s fleeing the scene of a crime. It’s still dark out, judging by the softened sounds and the slight coolness of the air—Matt's got at least a half hour before people will start showing up. He’ll only need a minute, just long enough to get his point across. No blood, just pain. A minute. He’ll be back before Foggy wakes up, easy.

 

He needs the half hour. He uses the minute, and he thinks the man doesn’t quite _understand_ yet. Another punch, another one. One for every time Matt heard his daughter crying, and one for the time Matt tried to help her the normal way and no one listened. One for the mother who lied, and one for the father she lied for. He can’t explain away the last twenty punches. He just knows that they feel _good._

He wanders home in a daze, and it’s only when he’s a block away that he recognizes the stinging in his hands. He touches a gentle finger to the knuckles, smelling sharp iron—blood, and he’s not sure how much is his. He goes to a water fountain, rinses away as much as he can, but every time he checks his knuckles still feel sticky and sore.

 

He can’t quite wash the blood off his hands.

 

He sits down on a park bench, covers his face with his bloody hands, and tries to breathe normally. He can’t quite manage it, and he’s not sure if it’s the adrenaline or the dawning realization that he can’t go home, can’t let Foggy see him like this. He feels the slight ache on his cheekbone and the burn of the cut on his lip, and his hands are still bloody no matter how hard he scrubbed them. His clothes are dirty and he’s still got his blindfold wrapped around one wrist like a badge. Foggy will know immediately that something’s wrong. He’ll be scared and upset, and he might cry, and Matt _can’t_ let that happen. No more crying.

 

“Matt?” Foggy calls out timidly. Please, not this. How did Foggy _find_ him? No, stupid question. Foggy found him because that's what Foggy does. He finds Matt when Matt can't find himself. “Are you okay? You weren’t there when I woke up. Did you go out for a walk?”

 

Matt closes his eyes and shudders, bowing his head. He hears soft footsteps approaching, and then a tentative hand on his shoulder. When Matt forces himself to look up, he hears Foggy take a sharp breath.

 

“It’s not as bad as it looks.” Matt assures him, voice flat and dull. He’s still not quite sure this is real, still not quite all there in the moment. Still back with the man, the wet sound of a fist connecting over and over and over. Soothing, like a song.

 

“It looks pretty bad, Matt.” Foggy says quietly. When Matt closes his eyes again and swallows, Foggy sighs. “Do you have a first aid kit?”

 

Matt nods numbly, and lets Foggy pull him to his feet and lead him back upstairs.

 

Foggy’s careful, gentle, although it’s clear he’s never had to do anything like this before. He uses too much antibiotic cream, and when he wraps the gauze around Matt’s hands he does it too loosely. Matt will probably have to redo it himself later, but not for a while, not for as long as he can. Foggy presses a gentle kiss to each hand (never take the bandages off, never, nothing he does will feel as good no matter how well he does it) before rising and sitting next to Matt on the bed. It’s quiet for a while. Matt’s not going to be the one to break the silence—he’s got no words to start, no words that will explain this in a way that will make it okay.

 

“What did you do, Matt?” Foggy asks softly, voice even. Matt swallows.

 

“I got in a fight.” Matt whispers. He wonders how vague he can be, whether he can make it ambiguous enough that Foggy will draw his own conclusions. Matt was attacked, Matt was just defending himself, Matt was the victim.

 

“How much did you hurt them?” Matt stiffens, and Foggy sighs. “No one gets injuries like yours unless they were the one doing the hurting.” He points out plainly. Matt closes his eyes. No lies.

 

“A lot.” He murmurs dimly. “I hurt him a lot.” Foggy reaches out and brushes a gentle finger just under the bruise on Matt’s cheek.

 

“Why?” Foggy asks, and there’s no fear there, no disgust. Just quiet curiosity. Matt leans into Foggy touch, swallowing.

 

“He hurt people first.” Matt says, and his voice doesn’t come out right. It’s too close to a snarl, too much of the devil Matt keeps hidden inside him. “I had to. No one else would help.”

 

“I would have helped.” Foggy tells him, low and certain. Matt shakes his head, reaching up and catching Foggy’s hand in his own.

 

“I tried.” He swears urgently. “I went to the police, to Child Services, to everyone. No one did anything. There wasn’t anything you could have done, even though you would have tried, I _know_ you would have. I just needed—this was the only way.” Foggy is silent for a long moment.

 

“Is he going to stop hurting people?” He finally asks, voice indecipherable. Matt nods, squeezing Foggy’s hand and ignoring the way it makes his knuckles sting.

 

“He’ll never hurt anyone again.” Not if he values his ability to walk. “I had to.” He says again, desperate for Foggy to understand. Foggy’s quiet again, too quiet, and Matt’s readying himself for the words. ‘How could you’, ‘What is wrong with you’, ‘I’m calling the police’, ‘I can’t see you anymore’.

 

Foggy takes a shaky breath, leans forward and presses their foreheads together, fingers brushing against Matt’s free hand. Matt turns his palm over and carefully weaves their fingers together without jostling his bandages too much. It doesn't hurt as much where Foggy's skin touches his, and Matt wonders if he could peel away the gauze and ask Foggy to touch everything, make the pain go away.

 

“Okay. Good.” Foggy whispers, and Matt can’t breathe for a moment. ‘Good’. Foggy thinks what Matt did is _good._ “But you can’t do this again.” Matt tenses, everything inside of him going tight as razor-wire. His blood’s still _singing_ from the victory, from the wonder of helping someone. The thought of never having that again is more than he can bear.

 

“Foggy…” He tries carefully, and Foggy cuts him off.

 

“No. Promise me, Matt. You can’t get hurt like this again. Promise you won’t do it anymore.” He says, and he sounds—not angry, but worried, worried enough that it just skirts the edge of fury in its force. “Please, promise me.”

 

Matt thinks of the man. The man had promised not to do it again either, but what if he wasn’t telling the truth? What if Matt needs to repeat the lesson, make sure he gets the message?Even if he does, there are hundreds of other people who are crying at night in his city. Not as close as the girl was, but if he listens hard enough he can hear them. They’re crying, and Matt’s already saved one of them. Why not the others, too? He can _do_ it. He can save them, and he can feel good too, that rush of energy and fierce satisfaction when he wins a fight.

 

Matt _needs_ the fighting, but he needs Foggy too.

 

“I promise.”

 

Liar.

 

* * *

 

Matt can’t go out again immediately. Foggy’s watching him closely, and Matt's not sure if he's worried about the bandages or just waiting for Matt to break his promise. Matt can’t blame him for doubting.

 

Matt tries for as long as he can. He smiles and teases Foggy and keeps his hands in his pockets while they’re healing. He pays for dinner and buys Foggy flowers and treats him like a king. It’s not hard and it’s not pretending—Matt adores Foggy, he loves every moment he spends with him. When Matt's with Foggy, the world stops crying.

 

Matt lasts two weeks, until the night before their three-month anniversary.

 

He hears a woman screaming, someone yelling at her to shut the hell up and hand over her purse. Matt’s slipping out of bed and pulling on the blindfold before he’s even opened his eyes, thanking god that’s it’s a Thursday and Foggy’s not sleeping next to him. He hunts the man down, and the _feeling,_ the rush is incredible. He stops himself earlier this time, takes the purse and leaves it close enough for the woman to find it, then leaves the robber’s wallet right next to it just in case the woman wants something for her trouble. The bruises itch on his skin when Foggy laughs the next night, light and clear, and asks Matt if he wants red or white wine.

 

“Whatever you want.” Matt tells him, smiling, and he ignores the way it aches a little when he leans forward too fast to hold Foggy’s hand. Matt orders dessert again, because he wants this to last as long as it can, just like it did last time.

 

“Wow, seriously?” Foggy chuckles when Matt gives him a peck on the cheek instead of his usual long, wet kiss at the door. “I haven’t got a kiss like that since our first date. ” Matt grins.

 

“Well, if we’re recreating the evening…” He teases, but truthfully he’s panicking a little. The bruises will still be fresh, and if Foggy sees them he’ll know. He’ll know Matt lied, and Foggy’s _not_ the kind of person who likes to be lied to.

 

Give it a week, Matt thinks. Just long enough that the bruises will be a little more faded. He can leave the lights off and distract Foggy all night long, slip his shirt on to make coffee before Foggy wakes up and bring it to Foggy in bed. Just another week.

 

“You, Matthew Murdock, are a tease.” Foggy complains, but he sounds fond rather than annoyed. “Okay, fine. I’m going to go home and spend a long, lovely night with my right hand. Since we’re recreating the evening.” He adds wryly. Matt snorts, and he can’t help darting forward for one more innocent kiss, on the lips this time.

 

“I’ll call you, okay?” Matt murmurs, sticking to the script, to the plan. Just one more week. Foggy laughs and kisses him back and, much like every time Foggy kisses him, Matt’s brain completely crashes and he does dumb things.

 

He runs a hand down Foggy’s back and pulls him closer, and then hisses when the motion presses Foggy too hard against one of the bruises. For a moment Matt hopes vainly that Foggy will take the hiss as one of arousal rather than pain, but Foggy knows him too well. Foggy freezes immediately at the sound and then pulls away very slowly.

 

Game over.

 

“Cab. Home. _Now.”_ Foggy grits out, and he sounds angrier than Matt’s ever heard him, low and dangerous.

 

Matt swallows and nods. He gives Foggy’s address instead of his, because he’s hoping familiar ground will make Foggy a little softer. He hopes wrong, because as soon as they’re in the door Foggy’s slamming it shut and turning to poke Matt hard in the chest. Not on the bruises, Matt thinks. Not petty, just mad.

 

“Shirt off.” Matt almost makes a joke about Foggy being bossy in bed, but he thinks better of it. He shouldn’t make this worse than it already is, because Foggy might not miss the bruises next time. He carefully unbuttons his shirt—the most expensive one he has, the one that made Foggy’s breath catch the first time he saw Matt in it. Foggy’s breath catches again, but Matt knows it’s not the way he wants it to.

 

“You _promised_ me, Matt.” Foggy accuses, and his voice is worse than a shout precisely because it’s not one. It’s angry, yes, but more than that it’s _hurt._ Matt swallows.

 

“I’m sorry.” He whispers weakly, shoulders slumping. “I tried.” Foggy laughs harshly.

 

“For two weeks? You couldn’t go two weeks without running out and putting your life in danger?” Matt shakes his head against his better judgment, knowing that arguing is just going to make things worse but so desperate to make Foggy _understand._

 

“I wasn’t in danger.” He promises, even though part of the reason he'd gone was  _because_ it meant he was in danger. “I was careful, and she needed my help.”

 

“Who?” Foggy asks, voice heated. “Who needed your help so much that you had to go do _this_ to yourself?” Matt feels a gentle brush of fingers just barely pressing above and below one of the bruises, and he can’t help but push a little into the touch. It’s so soft, at odds with Foggy’s voice. Tender.

 

“A woman.” He explains quietly. “She was being robbed.” Foggy’s fingers don’t pause in their inspection, although he does sigh.

 

“A woman.” Foggy repeats slowly. “Right. And what was her name? Did she thank you?” He asks, and his voice is suddenly, suspiciously light. Matt frowns, a little thrown off.

 

“I didn’t actually talk to her.” He admits, bemused. Foggy hums, too casually.

 

“I see. So, you went out, risked your life, and from the look of this last bruise got _pistol-whipped,_ just to rescue a little old lady’s purse. One little old lady out of a hundred little old ladies being robbed in Hell’s Kitchen at any given moment.” Matt feels himself go tense in response.

 

“I can’t be in a hundred places at once.” He justifies warily. “But I could be in one, when it mattered.”

 

“ _You_ matter, Matt!” Foggy snaps bitterly, and all of the measured emotion of his earlier words is gone. “And you don’t even know that, do you? Jesus. You can’t see yourself right now, but I can, and you’re a mess. You’re black and blue, and you just went out to dinner and acted like nothing was wrong. What were you even going to do when we got _home_?”

 

Matt bites his lip. Foggy laughs once, harsh and furious, but his fingers still don't stop, mapping out every inch of Matt’s skin for more bruises.

 

“So you were just going to ditch me, on our _anniversary,_ slink off home to lick your wounds and what? Just avoid me until you didn’t look like you were auditioning for _Fight Club_ anymore?” Foggy asks, voice low and deadly. Matt squeezes his eyes shut. He’s not dumb enough to nod, but he doesn’t want to lie so he can’t shake his head either. “No, Matt. Really?” 

 

“I didn’t want you to worry.” Matt tries desperately. “It just would have been for a week, a few days, and then it would have been okay.” It’s weak even to his own ears, and Foggy ignores it.

 

“There’s no point in asking you not to do it again, is there?” Foggy says dully, and it’s not a question. Matt swallows. No lies, no lies, and no more bending the truth. It never seems to work out in his favor.

 

“I’m so sorry.” He whispers hoarsely. Foggy’s fingers stop moving. They press gently over Matt’s heart, just a little bit harder than before, and then they’re gone. “No, no, no. Please don’t leave. Foggy, please.” Matt begs, reaching out and grabbing at anything he can hold on to, desperate to keep Foggy there with him. “Please?”

 

“Matt.” Foggy murmurs softly, and there’s warmth in his voice next to the worry. “I’m just taking off my jacket.” Matt exhales shakily.

 

“Oh.” He says, and he feels a little weak with relief and also embarrassed at his weakness. “Okay.” Foggy laughs, but it's not a joyful sound.

 

“None of this is okay, Matt.” He returns, a little hysterical. “I’m scared, and I want to stay angry because that’s easier, but I _can’t_ because I keep seeing the bruises and I don’t know what to do, Matt. I’m _terrified.”_ Matt shakes his head, pulling Foggy even closer so that he can wrap his arms around him.

 

“No, don’t be scared.” Matt murmurs urgently. “It _will_ be okay. It will. I’ll be more careful next time, I’ll tell you when I go so you won't have to worry, I’ll—“

 

“I just want to go to sleep, Matt.” Foggy whispers wanly. “Please?” He sounds so tired, nothing like the Foggy who teased him earlier tonight over stealing the last bite of cake, who laughed so bright and happy. He just sounds exhausted, beaten-down and weary.

 

“Of course.” Matt agrees softly, and he forces himself to let go. To let Foggy slip away. “I’ll…I’ll let you get to bed. I can just, I know my way out, I’ll just… I’ll talk to you. Monday?” Will Foggy even want to talk on Monday? Matt’s already made him so tired. Foggy doesn’t like to pick fights where he doesn’t have to, and being with Matt is a constant battle.

 

“Matt…” Foggy starts, and then he stops, sighing. It’s a weak sigh, and it sounds hurt, devastated. He doesn’t say anything else. Matt swallows and nods. Not a ‘talk to you Monday’. Not anything. Maybe not anything _ever._

 

Matt gingerly pulls his shirt back on and lets himself out. He hears Foggy taking deep breaths behind him, the sharp, shaky sort of breaths that mean someone’s trying very hard not to cry. No salt, no tears, so Foggy’s being strong, stronger than Matt is. He feels the building pressure behind his eyes, the sharp prickle of tears, and he leans against the wall next to Foggy’s door and lets himself slide slowly down it to the ground. He’ll move in a second. He just needs a second. Just a minute. Just another.

 

He’s not quite sure what to do now. He knows he needs to leave, he can’t just be sitting here when Foggy leaves in the morning. When Foggy leaves to do errands, the ones that Matt’s done with him since that first night together. They’re low on groceries—they always go on Saturdays, after breakfast. Dry cereal and bananas, because they always run out of milk. Matt’s got a toothbrush inside, just a few feet away. He’s got a drawer of clothes, and an extra pair of shoes, and an umbrella. There’s a carton of Matt’s pineapple juice in the fridge even though Foggy hates it, and there’s a box of Matt’s Cheerios next to Foggy’s Lucky Charms. Does he come back for those? Does he come and put all of them into a scratchy, flimsy cardboard box and carry them away, or does he leave them there because he couldn’t touch any of them again, ever, without thinking about what they meant and what he’d lost? Would Foggy _let_ him come back for those? Let him come…

 

Home. Matt’s been calling it home for weeks. He hadn’t even thought about it, but he must have said it around Foggy too. What did Foggy think when he heard? Foggy had said home too, he _had_. They’d gone back to Matt’s apartment together, and Foggy had called it home. They’re each other’s home. Foggy’s his home, and Matt doesn’t know if he can ever go home again.

 

There’s the click and creak of a door opening.

 

“Oh, thank god. You’re still here. I thought I'd have to start running." Foggy breathes. Matt looks up, arms wrapped around his knees. He’s not sure if he should run or not.

 

“Sorry.” He mutters, trying to smile. “I just felt a little dizzy. I can get up now and go—“

 

“Stay.” Foggy offers instead. He sounds honest, warm, and a little desperate. Matt stands carefully, stance wary.

 

“You’re still mad.” He tests slowly, and Foggy snorts.

 

“Hell yeah, I’m still mad. And I’m scared, and I’m tired, and I'm going to have to sign up for first aid classes because you apparently have a pathological need to pick fights, but…but I can’t just let it end like this.” He whispers, soft and sure. “You’re an idiot, but you’re kind of my idiot.”

 

Matt nods eagerly. He’s willing to be called an idiot as long as it means he’s Foggy’s idiot.

 

“So, you want…what you do want?” He asks cautiously, not quite daring to hope. Foggy sighs.

 

“It’s our anniversary.” He tells Matt quietly. “And what I _really_ want is to fall asleep with you next to me, so I know it’s still the same. Even if everything’s different, it’s still the same.”

 

Oh, god. Please yes.

 

“It _is_ the same.” Matt promises fervently, taking a careful step forward, and then another. “Nothing’s changed. I’m still the same person I always was.”

 

"I know, Matt." Foggy says, and honestly? He sounds more sure of that fact than Matt does.

 

Foggy reaches out and takes his hand, and Matt lets Foggy guide him even though he shouldn’t have to.

 

Matt feels a little unsteady on his feet at the moment anyway. He could use some help.

 

“I almost lit candles.” Foggy tells him absently as he pulls him through the apartment, into the bedroom. Sleep, Matt reminds himself as they get closer. Nothing else, don’t get his hopes up. “Good thing I forgot—knowing our luck, the whole place would have burned down by now.”

 

“You were going to light candles?” Matt asks, pleased but also a little perplexed. “That’s sweet, but I wouldn’t have been able to appreciate them properly.” Foggy pulls away for a second, and Matt has a brief moment of terror that Foggy’s changed his mind before he’s back and pressing something smooth and cool into Matt’s hand. Glass, a jar.

 

“Scented candles.” Foggy tells him softly. “Chocolate Layer Cake. Because it was what we ate together on our first date. Apparently Yankee Candle is omniscient.”

 

“Ah.” Matt says, feeling his stomach drop. It’s hard to breathe, but he takes a breath anyway so that he can smell the candles. “They’re nice.” He says honestly. It’s surprising, because most scented things are cloying to him. These are perfect, and he’s not sure how much of that is the candles and how much of that is the fact that Foggy bought them for him. For their _anniversary._ “We could still…” He gestures helplessly, and Foggy laughs, too quiet and not quite happy.

 

“The mood’s pretty much ruined already, Matt.” Matt nods, swallowing and turning the jar over in his hands, biting his lip again. Foggy sighs loudly, exasperated. “Fine. Give me the damn candle.”

 

“Really?” Matt asks, smiling hopefully, and Foggy huffs, swiping the candle out of his hand.

 

“Why not? Candles can’t make things any worse.”

 

Matt follows him around the room, holding up the candles for Foggy to light. He feels a little warmer with every one, feeling their phantom brightness on his skin. The air is rich with chocolate, and it’s like the first day Foggy asked him to dinner, coconut shampoo and chocolate and Matt _can’t_ lose this, he _can’t._

 

“You’re going to break the glass, Matt.” Foggy chides gently, pulling it out of his hands. “Come on, bed. You get to stay awake and blow them out later. Consider it penance.”

 

“Better than a hundred Hail Mary’s.” Matt muses as he follows. “Catholic school.” He explains when Foggy makes a curious sound, and Foggy snorts.

 

“I only ever got ten. You must have been a little devil.”

 

“Devil.” Matt murmurs wistfully. “Yes, I suppose I was.”

 

“I bet you were a cute kid.” Foggy accuses, tugging Matt into bed as soon as they’ve got their clothes off—and that’s interesting, Matt hadn’t even thought about it, he just likes sleeping next to Foggy in nothing but skin and it’s reflex for him even now when things are so fragile. He wonders if Foggy feels the same. “You probably just batted your stupidly long eyelashes and they let you get away with murder.”

 

Matt wonders how much Foggy will let him get away with, if Matt bats his stupidly long eyelashes enough. Probably not as much as Matt hopes.

 

“I got away with more than I should have.” He admits with no small amount of self-deprecation. Foggy hums, and it might be because he’s sleepy but it sounds distant somehow, and it makes Matt feel small and cold. They’re lying together on the bed, naked and on top of the covers, and not a single inch of them is touching. If it weren’t for Foggy’s bright warmth and light breath and perfect heartbeat, Matt wouldn’t even know he was there. Foggy can’t feel those things, not the way Matt can. If Foggy closed his eyes, would he feel Matt there at all? Would he want to? "The candles are beautiful.” Matt tries somewhat miserably, and Foggy makes a vague noise of agreement. “I only got you a key.”

 

Foggy’s breath stops for a moment.

 

“A key to what?”

 

Matt considers trying some sort of grand gesture, like ‘it’s the key to my heart’, but he figures the boring truth is probably better than the romantic lie. At least tonight.

 

“To my apartment.” He confesses, a little ashamed. It's still in his pocket, attached to a dorky little cupcake keychain. He'd been too scared to even touch it during dinner, let alone give it to Foggy. “You come—came over so often anyway, I wanted to make sure you could always come…” _Home._ “Over.”

 

“You wouldn’t have been able to sneak around if I was there.” Foggy points out quietly. His voice is too even, impossible to read. Foggy’s better at secrets than Matt thought he was. “I’d have caught you.”

 

“Yes.” Matt says simply. “I _was_ going to tell you, just not tonight. Tonight was supposed to be about you. About us.” Foggy snorts.

 

“You weren’t ever going to tell me, were you?” He accuses flatly. “You would have _kept_ sneaking around until I came home and found you bleeding out on the couch.”

 

“No, I would have told you!” Matt denies firmly. “Definitely before the couch—which isn’t going to happen.” He adds hastily. “But if it _did,_ I’d have told you way before. Really.”

 

“Your poker face is as bad as it was three months ago.” Foggy informs him dryly. “You’ll need to work on that if you’re going to be a superhero.”

 

“A superhero?” Matt repeats, baffled.

 

“Are you or are you not planning to put on a costume, go out and fight crime, and then go to work the next morning dressed as a mild-mannered nerd? You’ve got the glasses and everything—you’re totally Clark Kenting, Matt.” Foggy doesn’t sound angry, or even upset. He still sounds a little worried, but also kind, a little amused. He pauses thoughtfully. “Huh. Does that make me Lois Lane?” Matt laughs, a little desperate and so, so tender that he can’t quite contain it.

 

“I love you.” He whispers roughly, instead of the planned ‘you probably spend more time on your hair than she does’. Foggy’s breath catches again, and he goes very still. Matt swallows. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said it. I know it’s a little too soon, even without tonight, and I’m not expecting anything even if it is our anniversary, and I get that you’re mad and confused and—“

 

“Fuck it.” Foggy mutters, and pushes Matt into the bed.

 

* * *

 

Foggy seems to have run with the dessert theme. In addition to the chocolate-scented candles, he also got sweet edible massage oils. Really, really good ones.

 

“I actually taste-tested before I chose this one.” Foggy tells him proudly. “To make sure it was perfect.” Matt grins and licks a steady line from belly up to throat.

 

“You taste perfect already.” He says honestly. “This is just icing.”

 

“Smooth, Murdock. You make it very hard to stay mad at you.” Foggy mutters, and Matt’s grin widens.

 

“Want another taste?” He asks innocently, pressing his fingers gently to Foggy’s lips. Foggy’s mouth opens immediately and he takes them in, warm and wet. Foggy has a bit of an oral fixation, for which Matt thanks every saint he can think of every single day. Foggy also has a sweet tooth, so the way he's lapping and sucking at Matt's fingers is borderline sinful and probably illegal in at least three states.

 

Honestly? This night has turned out remarkably well, all things considered. Matt came into it expecting an epic battle, and instead he got edible body oil.

 

He’s probably the luckiest man alive.

 

“More.” Foggy demands when Matt finally pulls his fingers away. Matt shakes his head.

 

“We do need to save some, you know.” He reminds him gently, running a soft hand down Foggy’s thigh. Foggy sighs, a little too happy to sound disappointed.

 

“Fine. More of _that_ then.” He pushes the bottle of oil—which Matt plans to get ten more bottles of in the near future—into Matt’s hand. Matt beams.

 

“Fast or slow?” He asks, already pouring some on his hands and rubbing them together to warm the oil. Foggy hums, considering.

 

“You usually like slow, don’t you?” He says thoughtfully. “Slow and sweet.”

 

Matt blinks, hands stilling. Slow. Matt likes slow. Matt’s never liked slow in his life, until he met Foggy. Now he loves it.

 

Slow and sweet.

 

“I really, really do.” He murmurs. “Is that okay?” Foggy chuckles.

 

“Matt, I don’t think ‘okay’ is the right word for pretty much anything we do in the bedroom. Amazing? Sure. Incredible? Definitely. Slow? Perfect. Although…” He trails off, pensive. “I guess we could do both, just to be sure.”

 

“Uh.” Matt says intelligently. Foggy makes a happy sound, pillow rustling as he nods.

 

“Yeah, good idea. You do slow, I’ll do fast, and we’ll meet somewhere in the middle.” He grabs the back of Matt’s neck to pull him down into a fierce, rather filthy kiss. “Go.”

 

It’s not quite a fight.  It’s intense, and they’re on opposite sides, but it doesn’t feel like they’re working against each other.

 

Matt takes his time, lots of oil and praises and light presses of fingers and lips. He pauses every time Foggy’s breath starts getting too fast and his sounds too desperate, because this is going to last as long as Matt can make it. So he rests, stroking gently but not with enough pressure to finish it, murmuring soft words of encouragement until Foggy shudders and stills again. Foggy leaves love bites everywhere but where Matt’s already got battle bruises—them he kisses tenderly, soothing, lingering before he moves on. He grinds down hard on Matt’s fingers and orders him to go faster, but when Matt shakes his head Foggy doesn’t argue, just keeps rocking and kissing him lazily until Matt’s finally satisfied with the stretch. He’s the one who slicks Matt ready, and Matt has to beg him more than once to stop, wait just a little more, let Matt last just a little longer. Matt wants to be inside this time, he has to be, and Foggy seems to understand because he sighs and sits up.

 

“Bruises.” Foggy explains, as he’s lowering himself down carefully and Matt’s sliding smoothly into the tight heat. “I don’t want you to move around too much.” He laughs. “Plus, this way I have the high ground. Good battle plan.”

 

Matt smiles and holds Foggy’s hips down easily, thrusting up in lazy strokes. Foggy gasps and shudders.

 

“Very good battle plan.” Matt agrees mildly, pace purposefully and excruciatingly slow.

 

Foggy growls and leans down to kiss him hard. As usual, Matt’s brain goes offline after a few seconds, and he reaches up to cradle Foggy’s face instead of his hips. Foggy smirks into the kiss and slams down hard enough to make Matt scream.

 

“You know, this is actually a pretty effective method of anger management.” Foggy muses idly, voice smug. “I like it.”

 

Foggy talks like that the whole way through, teasing and whispering, commands and prayers. There’s harder and faster and more, but there’s also Matty and please and _I love you._

 

 _‘I love you’_ comes right at the end, and Matt comes right with it.

 

“Candles.” Foggy mumbles some time and several _times_ later, and Matt shakes his head and licks at Foggy’s shoulder where he drizzled some of the last drops of oil. He is not getting out of this bed. Ever.

 

“They’ll burn out soon, we don’t have to get up.” He promises confidently. “Besides, I’ll wake up if anything catches on fire.”

 

“Uh, yeah.” Foggy replies, sleepy and amused. “So will I. When, you know, _I_ catch on fire.”

 

“No. Heat, sound, things.” Matt explains lazily, and Foggy hums like he does every time Matt fumbles explaining his senses, like it makes total sense. “Don’t worry, I’ll save you.”

 

Foggy laughs, sounding absolutely delighted.

 

“Okay, still a little mad, but I have to say, the Superman thing suits you.” He rolls over and presses a light kiss to Matt’s mouth. “I’m still not Lois Lane though, so don’t get any ideas.”

 

“You could be Jimmy Olsen, the adorable little freckled fanboy.” Matt offers easily, leaning in to return the kiss. Foggy pinches his side lightly.

 

“If _Superman_ ever wants to have sex again, he should choose his next words very carefully.” He advises sweetly. Matt hums thoughtfully, playing with a few soft strands of Foggy's hair as he does so.

 

“Sexy Brainiac?” He suggests, and Foggy laughs again and gives him a much longer, deeper kiss in reward.

 

“Much better.” He agrees happily. “Now all we need is a Lex Luthor, some bald bastard of a kingpin to be our nemesis.”

 

“What we _need_ is more oil.” Matt corrects him, shaking the empty bottle mournfully. Foggy snorts and pulls it out of his hand, and Matt hears the light thunk of it hitting the ground when Foggy tosses it aside.

 

“That was the value size, you know.” He grumbles fondly. “You’re not human.”

 

Matt grins and leans down to lick gently at Foggy’s throat, hoping to find just a little taste left. Sweet, a trace of salt and Foggy whimpers when Matt’s lips brush over a sensitive spot—Matt’s favorite, he’s been sucking and biting on it all night long to make it perfect. Matt’s got ten to match, all over his body. Bruises on his skin that he’ll feel for days, just like he wanted.

 

Matt _wants_ excitement, raw lust and feverish feelings.

 

Matt _needs_ laughter, coconut shampoo and rich chocolate.

 

Matt _gets_ both.

 

“I just really like sweet things.” He shrugs happily. “Who knew?”

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to try one where I actually let them get together before the last paragraph. Then I figured I might as well throw an origin story in there too, while I had the chance.
> 
> Also, headcanon? Foggy's going to sign up for first aid courses to help Matt, and Claire's going to be teaching and they're going to become best friends. Just saying.


End file.
